Valentine's Day
by procol harum
Summary: Doug/Tom slash, suicide attempt...Tom breaks his Valentine's Day routine and this could result in something tragic. Based off of Linkin Park's song, Valentine's Day. I still own nothing.


So this one is pretty angsty folks, and deals with attempted suicide. Not a complete songfic, just sorta based off of LP's Valentine's Day

**Disclaimer: I don't own the lyrics, the song, the band, the show, the characters used from said show, etc, etc. But I do own the beer **

So here goes nothing :

* * *

**Valentine's Day**

**by **

**Linkin Park**

My insides all turned to ash, so slow  
And blew away as I collapsed, so cold  
A black wind took them away, from sight  
And held the darkness over day, that night

And the clouds above move closer  
Looking so dissatisfied  
But the heartless wind kept blowing, blowing  
I used to be my own protection, but not now  
Cause my path had lost direction, somehow  
A black wind took you away, from sight  
And held the darkness over day, that night

And the clouds above move closer  
Looking so dissatisfied  
And the ground below grew colder  
As they put you down inside  
But the heartless wind kept blowing, blowing

So now you're gone, and I was wrong  
I never knew what it was like, to be alone

On a Valentine's Day, on a Valentine's Day  
On a Valentine's Day, on a Valentine's Day  
On a Valentine's Day, on a Valentine's Day  
(I used to be my own protection, but not now)  
On a Valentine's Day, on a Valentine's Day  
(Cause my mind has lost direction, somehow)  
On a Valentine's Day, on a Valentine's Day  
(I used to be my own protection, but not now)  
On a Valentine's Day, on a Valentine's Day  
(Cause my mind has lost direction, somehow)

**(just noticed ffnet messed this up earlier; full lyrics here now :D)**

* * *

Tom Hanson stared off into nothing and everything; vivid memories of many past days such as this flashed through his mind and he raised the bottle to his lips. "Just one more sip," he kept telling himself. Like he had been telling himself for the past hour, and yet he'd only finished half of the bottle. Half the bottle of some cheap beer he had found in the back of his fridge. He didn't know how it had gotten there, but he didn't care – he had needed beer and this was all that he could find. 

He was going to visit him. He had every year; it was all routine now. Except he had screwed up this year. He had always visited and then drunk, but he had needed the beer and knew that this year he wouldn't be able to face his father sober.

His mother had passed away a week ago.

Tom Hanson was only twenty-five, and now he had no mother or father. He was going to visit both of them today, as soon as he had drunk away the pain.

His mother was dead.

February fourteenth each year was always painful for Tom, but he had never once dared to visit his father's grave drunk. He wasn't religious; he didn't care what God would think of him doing it. He did care about what his father thought, though. And Tom had never once liked disappointing his father. But now it wasn't only the grave of Thomas Hanson Senior he was planning on visiting; it was the grave of Margaret Hanson he planned on visiting as well. And the pain was too much to bare that he had drunk. Not much; only half of the bottle. But Tom knew he would need that single beer to face each of the grave sites, situated side by side in Mount Hope Cemetery. There was a plot beside his father reserved for him; waiting for the day that Tom Hanson's rotting corpse would forever be entombed deep inside it.

She had had a heart attack. Tom wasn't able to believe it; his mother was only forty-two. She was still young and yet death had come and stolen life away from her savagely without reason. She was a good woman; she had deserved to live longer. But Death had stolen that from her. And stolen her from Tom.

With one final, long gulp the contents of the bottle were gone. The young man's brown eyes shone with tears at the burning sensation in his throat and he quickly wiped away the unwanted moisture; he had shed tears at the funerals. Tom knew it sounded harsh, but he hated to show emotion; he hated to cry. He had cried at this father's funeral and let the healing process begin. He had never healed completely and every Valentine's Day afterwards he would mourn and get drunk. The same was going to happen with his mother; he had cried at the funeral but had not let the healing process begin. He wasn't ready for that yet. But he would be tomorrow.

Tom stood and headed to the front door, only stopping to pull his worn leather jacket off of the hook. Then he was out the door, tugging his jacket on and shutting the door behind him. He didn't even bother locking it. Then he was moving towards the stairwell, trying to stall his time. He wasn't sure he was ready to face them just yet, but he knew he had to. Visiting his father was routine, and his mother had just become a part of it.

At ten-twenty-four on February fourteenth, nineteen-ninety-one, a blue Mustang pulled up outside the gates of Mount Hope Cemetery and slowed to a stop, idling for a mere second before the owner cut the engine.

_  
_Tom stared down at the cement markers, scared and alone. Both his parents were dead now and he could feel himself falling apart on the inside. Why did God have to take them away from him? All he had ever wanted was to have his father back, but instead of receiving him, he had lost his mother. It wasn't fair and he wished he could go back in time and save them from Death.

He knew he was falling apart on the inside, except now faster than ever before. It felt like everything inside was burning and dying, the fire slowly stealing them away, turning everything to ash. A breeze blew and Tom felt it against his cheek; the coldness stinging him yet he didn't feel it. He was cold even before he had gotten outside. A tear slid down his cheek and he didn't care.

_He didn't care. _

Nor did he dare wipe it away; for once in his life he actually wanted to cry. He wanted to cry and cry until all the pain was gone. Until he felt so empty that he would never feel again. And he felt so cold. It was still Winter; snow still covered the ground below; winds keep whipping against his face. But this cold was different. He felt cold on the inside and out. He felt _numb._

He wanted his dad. He wanted his dad to come and pick him up off of the ground and carry him home. He wanted to hear his mother's voice telling him everything was going to be okay as she made him hot chocolate. He wanted his mum and dad to hold him until he fell asleep. He wanted everything to be okay; to be like it had used to be. He wanted to feel warm inside; he wanted to his parents alive.

Tom thought he had gotten used to being alone; had gotten used to finding his own way in life. He though he could just cover up his emotions and go on with life as if everything was okay. He would just pick up the broken shards of his life and glue them back together. Because he liked knowing he could do that himself, without any body's help.

Not now.

Now all he wanted was for somebody to help him, to hold him. He needed a way out of this darkness, away from the pain. But there was nobody. Everybody he had ever loved was taken away. And now he was alone, left to pick up the pieces yet again; except this time he didn't want to. He just wanted to curl up on the ground, close his eyes and disappear. Maybe even be with his parents again.

Tom looked up towards the sky, expecting to see a bright light shining down upon him. All he saw was dark wisps of blackness against the graying sky. Storm clouds were forming. That meant it would rain soon; Tom hoped it would. He hoped the rain would come and carry him away. So the younger officer lay down on the hard ground, curled up and closed his eyes.

And waited.

It did start raining, and Tom smiled in relief. Soon the rain would carry him away and he could forget about the pain; forget about piecing his life back together. He had done it too many times before and it just wouldn't fix this time. He never really had been fixed before.

Cold. All he felt was the cold. And cold never never felt so good.

Tom was drenched and freezing, grateful of the droplets of moisture cascading down around him, covering him in a coat of water; it froze every part of his body to the point of being numb. It felt better than being drunk; this didn't just numb the pain. It replaced pain with pain. It replaced an unwanted pain with a pain that felt wonderful. He just couldn't wait until it faded; he couldn't wait until he had faded. Faded away into nothingness.

That never happened.

Tom Hanson was floating; at least it felt like he was floating. Until he felt the hands gripping him; he felt arms underneath him, holding him in the air. Someone had picked him up off of the ground. He wasn't floating, he was being lifted into the air. By who?

Only one way to find out.

Tom slowly opened his eyes, trembling at how cold he suddenly felt; before it had felt good, now it felt terrible. He missed the good feeling it had given him, though.

Doug Penhall stared down at him, worry creasing his features, blonde hair soaked and plastered to his forehead. Then as Tom's eyes opened, relief flooded his features.

Then anger mixed with fear.

"What the Hell were you doing?" the older man demanded. "You could of _died _Tommy. Damn it," Doug sighed, worry once again taking over his features. "I know you aren't that stupid."

"I just wanted it to go away," Tom mumbled. "You should understood. You did it too."

"I was eight!" Penhall yelled, nearly dropping his friend. He couldn't believe a twenty-five year old man was comparing himself to an eight-year old.

"Doesn't matter. You wanted the pain to disappear, and you almost made it. I just wanted them back, Doug. It was the only way I knew how to get them back."

Doug clutched Tom tighter; his fingernails dug into Tom's side, and he breathed heavily.

"Tommy, it isn't - You still got them, in your heart. Damn it, you can't kill yourself. It's not right, man."

Tom didn't respond; he was staring off into the sky and it was then that Doug noticed the trembles wracking is friend's body.

"Tommy?"

"It's not fair, Doug. Everybody I ever loved was stolen from me. Everybody leaves me." Tom focused his gaze on Doug once again; his filled with pain and sadness, Doug's filled with worry. "Why does everybody leave me?" he whispered.

Doug's breath hitched; was that what Tom thought? That he couldn't love anybody because if he did they would leave him. It wasn't true, and Doug needed to make the younger man understand it.

"I never left you," Doug replied. "I came here because I love you. I love you and I've never left. And I swear I never will."

"You can't promise me that," Tom whispered. "You're a cop; you could get shot. 'Cause my dad loved me and he promised me the same thing. And he was shot. And Amy was killed. And everybody else left me. And you will too."

"Damn it, Tommy, I am not going to leave you. I swear I never will. Hell, I'll quit my job to make sure I can't!"

And he would. Because Doug loved Tom and he would do anything for the younger man.

"Doug," Tom whispered. "You don't. You don't have to quit your job. Because I'll understand if you leave. Everybody else did, so it will make since if you do too."

Doug sighed; there was no way he could make Tom understand. Not today, anyways. But tomorrow he would try again, and every day afterwards if he had too. Because he loved Tom and would do anything to keep him safe.

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_So continue? Leave as is? Never go near this story again? I wanna know what you think :D_


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